memory

photo credits : judy ben joud
and I miss her sweet soul
and the flame in her voice
when she was defending the truth
and was doing her best to bring proof;

and I miss little gossips
about princes and artists;
around a coffee cup
and a plate with some cookies;


and I miss a good word
that she would launch
with positive energy
always meant to encourage and help me;

the knowledge, the style
the curious friends, and mysterious words
she was mumbling in French
when I, as a kid, was to not understand

If I go back and sit at her window
then as usually lean out (just a bit dangerously)
how would I know if the wind shaking the curtains
is not there to tell her hello?